Grey Christmas
by Celtic Cross09
Summary: I’m probably the horrible culprit that brought this all on myself." Told through Double D's POV.


Disclaimer: I don't own Ed,Edd,N Eddy. I don't own anything. Nada.

Rating: PG-13—rating may be harsh, but it is dealing with some serious issues.

Anyways, I hope it doesn't suck too bad and enjoy!

Grey Christmas

I must admit, everything looks so pretty looking out the window.

I mean, with the snow and everything.

With the snow out the window of my bathroom over my bathtub, with the blinds open.

Beautiful scenery indeed on this Christmas Eve night.

Ah, and the lights. The yellow Christmas lights lining the outside of the window with the little plug-in candle in the middle of it.

We did that to all the windows in the front of my house.

We being Ed and I, and sometimes Eddy.

You see, my parents don't really decorate and I suppose I become a bit envious when I see the other neighbors with their festive Christmas decorations up.

So I know that if I want my house to have lights, then no one is going to put lights on the house except me.

If my memory serves me right, it was December the 2and last year when I went outside after having gone through the attic to find boxes of old lights. Although it wasn't snowing yet, it was dreadfully cold and even with my fleece sweater and my thick winter coat on I was miserable in the artic weather.

But this needed to be done.

I began holding up the lights in front of my bathroom window but I found myself in a bit of quandary when I realized that I wasn't tall enough to reach the top of the window.

"Heya Sockhead," I heard a familiar voice along with footsteps.

"Whatcha doing?" Pause. "Putting up lights? What are ya?" I turned around and sure enough I was faced with a confused Eddy and a blissful Ed in heavy jackets.

"Decorating is celebrating Christmas, Eddy."

I placed my index finger on my chin, thinking. "Well, it's part of it anyways." I had to correct myself.  
"Anyhow, the bottom line is, I need to stop procrastinating and finish decorating today."

Ed chimed in. "Is decorating kinda like a walrus?"

I giggled. Eddy smacked his forehead.

"BORING!! Look, if we're going to decorate why don't we go around and charge kids to do it for them?" Eddy beamed as if he just struck oil. "Think of the money we could make!!"

Of course, I _know_ Eddy and I _knew_ that he would suggest this idea.

"Every other house is already decorated. Look around you, Eddy."

Eddy spunned around, noticing all the lights, candles, wreaths, red bows and even some light-up plastic figures such as candy canes and snowmen in the front of the neighbors' yards.

When Eddy turned back to me his face dropped.

But Ed even looked more jovial.  
"Oh!! Oh oh!! Can I help you put up the pretty, twinkley lights Double D?? Can I can I can I???!"

I laughed at Ed's earnest ways. "Why certainly, Ed. In fact, you can hold the lights will I staple them."

Eddy quickly regained his composure. "Well, your house won't look good at all without my expert advice, so I'll stick around to show you two amateurs how it's done."

And that was how my house first got decorated a year ago.

We all worked really hard. This year and the last. Well—Ed and I worked hard, Eddy….. He just worked.

Anyways, last year was more difficult because we spent all day long doing that.

It looked so beautiful though that night, when I turned on all the lights. All the windows, the door, even some of the trees in my yard—had yellow lights.

Nothing too extravagant, but tasteful.

I was so proud of myself and my two dearest friends.

I…..Was somewhat hoping that my parents would be proud, too.

"Mother! Father! You're home!!" I was quite surprised to see my parents walking back in forth from the kitchen to the family room in a hurry.

On her way upstairs to the bedroom, Mother shot me a quick glance. "Oh, hi Eddward."

"What are you doing home?" I asked. They usually never come home until at least midnight, not at five o' clock in the afternoon like it was now.

Father didn't look at me as he answered while writing more sticky notes.

"Your mother and I are going out to eat with the executives at a very fancy restaurant, and your mother needed a quick change of clothes that would be appropriate to wear."

"So… You're going to leave soon?" I asked.

Father placed a few more sticky notes on the TV.

"Yes, as soon as we can."

………….

"Does this look good?" Mother asked in a huff, wearing a black dress now instead of the blouse and slacks she had on when she first came in.

Father nodded and grabbed the keys from the counter. "Yes. Let's go."

I watched as Mother picked up her mink jacket and slid on her suede gloves.

"Mother, did you see the lights outside when you came home last night?" I asked, smiling a bit—I couldn't hide the fact that I'm proud of my hard work.

"I did it alongside Ed and Eddy. We labored so hard all day yesterday that I was—"

"Yes, yes, it's very nice Eddward." Mother interrupted me.

Now Father held the door open, waiting for her.

Mother stalked to it but looked over her shoulder and said,  
"By the way, we might be a bit late tonight. Call us if there is an emergency. Goodbye."

After I watched my father shut the door rather loudly, I don't know what I did for the next five minutes.

My memory's a bit groggy on what happened that afternoon, but I felt like I slipped into this cold nightmare.

Although I never have before, and I never ever would--

I wanted to scream until my voice gave out.

But instead I walked into the kitchen and opened the medicine cabinet.

There were quite a few prescription pills on each shelf of the cabinet.

Some were ones that my parents took on a daily basis, and some were ones that they only use occasionally.

Some were from, say, probably ten years ago, which meant that they most likely lost quite a bit of their potency, but perhaps not if you took more than the recommended dosage.

And some I knew were my grandparents', because when they visit (and they hardly ever do), they usually forget their medication and so one of my parents will go through a drive through pharmacy for them.

Plavix. Humira. Zocor. Zoloft. Allegra. Xanax. Prevacid. Aricept.

And some of them I didn't even bother to see what it was.

All I know is that I took this potpourri of medication and ran some water in a glass to swallow it down with. And after approximately fifteen minutes….

I felt better.

Different, yes—I felt a particular way that I've never felt before in my life. But I have to admit I was a bit afraid at first.

Afraid for what reason, I don't know… Afraid that something bad could happen to me, afraid of _why_ I took such an irrational action without thinking it through enough, but most importantly….

I was afraid of why I felt like this was natural to me.

And this "habit"—if you want to call it that-- has stayed natural to me since last year.

I suppose don't think about it—even if I know what these combinations of prescription pills can do.

But I suppose it's a risk that I take every time.

I've never told anyone about this. Actually, I suppose I have no one to tell.

You see, I never talk to my parents (sticky notes aside), Ed wouldn't understand, and Eddy…

He most likely wouldn't want to be burdened by such matters.

And I wouldn't want him to. I wouldn't want anyone to. This is what I do when I want, and as long as no one knows than no one can interfere.

But sometimes there's this indescribable feeling that I get as I start to lose consciousness, and it's as though it _feels_ something. It takes care of something.

It makes me feel loved.

Now, I'm not one to pay mind to anyone's self-pity, but I can't help but wonder if my parents love me, because they don't really _know _their son.

How can they love somebody they don't even know?

And better yet, if my own parents don't love me, than who will?

Perhaps I'll never know the answers to some of these vexing questions. And chances are, I never will, because I don't believe I have enough courage to conjure up such a confrontation.

After all, they are still my parents.

So even if I am alone on this Christmas Eve night, I can't complain. I can't say my life is horrible.

Because it's probably me. I'm probably the horrible culprit that brought this all on myself.

Nevertheless, I try to push these thoughts aside as I climb into bed, wishing I could say goodnight to someone, anyone.

As I slowly feel my mind drift off to a state of unconsciousness, with the little consciousness that's left I suddenly remember that tomorrow morning is Christmas Morning.

I wish I could never wake up.


End file.
